The Story of Their Eyes
by greymidnight
Summary: An artist's mind works differently than one of a survivor's. Katniss got by in the arena; but Peeta takes in more than the survivor, understands and discovers revolting truths, and remembers everything so vividly with his artist's mind. It is their eyes.


There is something not right about the Careers' eyes.

It takes Peeta about fifteen minutes to realize this. All of the Careers – District 1, District 2, and the girl from 4 – have something wrong with their eyes. It is unsettling; it is more prominent in some of them (the District 2 boy, the District 1 girl) than others, but it is there in all of them.

Those disturbing eyes are constantly watching him. Peeta makes sure he meets their gaze evenly. If he looked at their weapons, he would be considered a coward. If he looked away from their gaze, he would be considered uncomfortable or a liar. And he could have none of that if he is to protect Katniss.

"So, Loverboy. Where would she be?" One of the Careers asks. It is the girl from 2, the short one who almost killed him with her fancy knife throwing before he could ask for an alliance. Even now, she is stroking the blade of the knife that had skimmed his ribcage. Weird, how she almost killed him, because she was the one who convinced the other Careers to ally with him, if only temporarily. Her eyes are the easiest for him to meet. They are an exquisite green with small brown flecks, and are the least _wrong_ of the Careers. They still scare him, though, because of the intelligence and judgement they seem to exude.

"She'll be in the woods, probably near the side by the lake," he says. This is half a lie. Katniss would be smart enough to stay away from the lake, unless it was the only source of water. But she would definitely be in the woods.

"Should we go hunt her?" the District 1 boy asks.

"Nah. Let's find some easy prey first," the District 2 boy responds. His smile is handsome but sickening. Peeta thinks his eyes are the most messed up.

The District 1 girl giggles loudly. "Sounds fun, Cato! Let's go."

* * *

It takes Peeta one night's worth of "hunting" to know why the Careers' eyes are all wrong.

It is caused by festering madness.

He can tell because of the way they were raised. Trained to be perfect, ruthless killing machines. Now, _murdering_ other kids for the entertainment of those that live free of suffering.

Peeta believes they all fought the idea – at first. But with the right upbringing and enough brainwashing, everything can be changed.

Their eyes are messed up because they reflect their soul – and their souls are desperately grasping onto the small, weak threads of humanity that still, seemingly impossibly, remain in them.

* * *

They find Katniss much quicker than he wants them to. He remembers very little of the events because of the tracker jackers, and for some reason, the sword cut from Cato, on his leg, seems to have affected his memory.

* * *

He is not sure how many days have passed since the tracker jackers when he finally sees another person. It is the redhead from District 5. She doesn't notice him, just walks by him almost silently.

* * *

"Come to finish me off, sweetheart?"

He grins slightly when Katniss startles. Her head whips around until she looks down and finally, _finally_ finds him.

Her laugh makes his heart swell with happiness. It sounds a bit sad and tired, but it is honest and pure, unlike Glimmer's or Clove's.

"Close your eyes."

He shuts his eyes, and his ears are gifted once more with her laugh.

The process of cleaning and healing him is painful. Spasms of pain rack his body, and though he tries not to show it – partly for the sponsors, but mostly for Katniss – he lets slip a few moans and grunts. Katniss' brow is in a perpetual knotted state, and her teeth frequently snag on her dry lips. Sometimes, when she's working on him, she looks like she's about to get sick. She looks so miserable, he wonders why he can't think of a way to make her smile.

When she's taking a small break, letting some leaf-and-spit combination draw the pus out of his leg wound, he calls to her. She looks up, gnawing furiously on her lip, and he mouths –

_How about that kiss?_

A gurgling laugh erupts out of her, and her grey eyes sparkle. His head is pounding and his vision is a bit hazy at the edges, but he knows he would love to get lost in those eyes. They are so nice, compared to the Career eyes he had been stuck with for days and days.

At the end of the day, when all healing attempts are done and his stomach has accepted some food, he falls asleep the most content he has ever been in this infernal arena.

* * *

"It's _her!_"

Katniss' cry makes Peeta startle. She's practically blubbering as she struggles against the mutts with her bow and arrows, but he finally gets what she means.

The tributes' eyes are in the mutts.

He is quick to tell himself they probably are not their actual eyes, just made to look like them, but he identifies the dead Careers' mutts reincarnations. There is the District 4 girl, the knife-girl Clove, and–

A large brown-furred mutt lunges up the side of the Cornucopia, and Peeta jerks backwards. The mutt slips down the side, but Peeta can't erase the image of its eyes – the brown eyes that belonged to that District 1 boy.

They are completely wrong, with nothing left but animal madness.

He is horrified by how little the eyes differ when compared from being on a human to being on a mutt.

* * *

"The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Peeta sees the realization hit her tired eyes a second after he understands what the announcement means. A crazed look flashes on her face – in her breathtaking, beautiful grey eyes – before it's replaced by a look of defeat and self-loathing.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," he says numbly. He stumbles up, pulling out the knife. Her eyes flare and she springs into survival mode: drawing back, stringing the arrow, pulling taunt the bow and aiming it at his heart. But he just drops the knife into the lake and turns to her. He tells her to do it. It is, after all, what he intended all along. His life for hers. His life for the one he loved, who never had a chance to love him.

She looks ashamed and sets down her bow, but he won't let her. "No. Do it," he says.

Those grey eyes. The beg him, _implore_ him to not make her do this. But he won't stand for it. _Katniss, this was how it was supposed to be. All along_, he thinks. At least, this way, his last sight will be her beautiful, wonderful, pure – no, not pure, but alive and sparkling eyes. Looking at her, he can forget the broken madness that was the Careers. The mutts. The tributes. Every victor he has ever come across.

He rips off his bandage with hands that tremble unwillingly. She tries to patch it back up – desperation colors her voice, her pleas – but he won't hear any of it. He tries to talk sense into her, even as his head pounds and his vision begins to go fuzzy and black around the edges.

"We both know they have to have a victor," he reminds her.

He tells her everything. He pours his sixteen years worth of love into his last words, his dying speech, but he knows it is wasted. Not on the Capital, the spectators. _They_ are probably crying rivers for him.

The words are wasted to her.

Her eyes unfocus, then alight with newfound inspiration. She scrabbles for the pouch at her belt, and he goes to stop her, but then she says it. The words hit him hard, like a punch in the gut.

_"Trust me."_

So he stares out at the arena, the beautiful landscape that housed so many terrible nightmares, that housed too many premature deaths ... and he is content. Their last kiss lingers on his lips, and the berries are cool in his hands. He knows, as he always has, he will never cease in trust Katniss. He knows, from the humanity in her eyes, he can trust the girl who he first saw in the red plaid dress.

And, as they end their countdown, he believes these berries will be the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.


End file.
